


Predictions

by LostSoftSpaceDyke



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, crowley is loved goddamn it, i cannot express how much this is fluff, just a mini study in their dynamic i guess, shenanigans followed by naps, this is such pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 04:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostSoftSpaceDyke/pseuds/LostSoftSpaceDyke
Summary: The relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale is comfortable, predictable until Crowley falls asleep on the couch and Aziraphale's caring instincts take over.





	Predictions

Crowley burst into his life today as he always did, bringing excitement in his wake and knocking over stacks of books as he walks - no, _ saunters _ \- through the bookshop. Aziraphale’s chastising is half hearted but Crowley can tell. It’s a game to them now, Crowley’s antics balanced out by Aziraphale’s complaining. A delicate balance only broken by extreme distress, an impending apocalypse, exhaustion, or inebriation. Crowley knows his angel too well for his own good. Aziraphale knows his demon better than the demon knows himself. 

So Aziraphale predicts the next line. Some complaint about the bookshop layout, a diffusal of blame.

“Not my fault the shop is so cluttered.”

Then some act of penitence. 

Crowley picks up the books delicately, tentative, as if worried they might crumble under his touch. Reverent. Crowley stacks the books back up with care and then returns his full attention to Aziraphale.

The tenderness of the moment is shattered by Crowley’s grin. It’s a warning. _ Something wicked this way comes. _Undeniably Crowley has come to propose that they go out either to engage in some mischief or to blatantly flaunt their insubordination before Heaven and Hell. Either way, Aziraphale really doesn’t know how to tell Crowley that he doesn’t have the energy to do this, whatever the antics of the day may be. 

Then comes Aziraphale’s next prediction. Crowley’s next words will be a plea, followed by one of the most ridiculous suggestions he’s ever heard. 

“Now hear me out,” Crowley begins. His predictability is heartwarming, if nothing else. “What if I - we - what if _ we _ changed all the coffee at the local cafe to decaf. We could to it tomorrow, just before the breakfast rush.”

Crowley is circling him, carefully avoiding the books scattered about the floor. Every step feels deliberate. A faux seriousness settles on the room as if he had not just suggested they meddle in the breakfasts of a few businessmen. As if he did not just imply that meddling in the breakfasts of a few businessmen is an inherently evil act. Laughter threatens to build in Aziraphale’s chest and Crowley lives for the way it manifests in the tiniest of twitches in his shoulders. He’ll add to this ridiculous plot until Aziraphale cracks, perhaps doubles over. This is a prediction they are both certain of. “Are you serious, Crowley?”

“Completely. Works for us both if you think about it. A completely exhausted populace for me, but healthier for it without the caffeine. That last part is for you.”

Aziraphale feigns consideration. Crowley itches to just grab his hand and drag him out the door, start this tomfoolery immediately even if its nearly eight in the evening and no one is buying coffee at a time like now. A sigh, a roll of pale blue eyes, and Crowley has circled his way around to grin at his angel. _ The sigh of someone who is about to cave to the dumbest plan I’ve ever come up with. _

In this prediction, Crowley is absolutely incorrect. Rather, it's the sound of someone who has come to cherish the banter. It’s the back and forth of those too evenly matched. Someone who has come to love the noise it brings despite the chaos usually in accompaniment. He will eventually acquiesce. Long gone are the days when Aziraphale would follow Crowley only if the action was equally balanced, neither entirely good nor entirely evil. These days he mostly does it for his own entertainment. 

  
Regardless, he knows his role in this ever-performed play. He won’t go down without a fight.

“And if I say no?”

“’M doing it anyways.” Crowley doesn’t miss a beat, shrugging and leaning into his terrible posture like a man who knows he’ll get what he wants regardless. The hands in his too-small pockets are somehow emotive despite their confines and the previous grin has become a smirk. _ He knows his role too well, the self assured bastard, _Aziraphale thinks fondly. “But you’d be missing out on quite the morning if you do.”

The moment the indulgent little smile makes its way onto Aziraphale’s lips, Crowley knows he’s succeeded. Aziraphale feigns ignorance as he picks up the books Crowley had knocked over and begins to shelve them. “I’ll consider it, then. Stay the night and we’ll plan it out in full. You cannot possibly run into London with such a half baked plan and expect it to succeed.”

“If you insist, angel.”

………………

By the end of the evening Crowley has both finalized the details of his ridiculous coffee plan and introduced Aziraphale to the horrors of food delivery services. He’s long since eaten his noodles (cold) and finished the last of his soda (warm). The plan had only gotten more ridiculous as they worked through it, leaving Aziraphale giggling in a way that made Crowley feel lighter. But now, hours later, there’s a thickness to the demon's voice, one that comes when the words in his brain run too slowly, sleep addled. The carefully balanced back and forth of the conversation has degraded to the point of being almost forgotten.

“She never really did explain that,” he begins, before forgetting where his words were going, how he’d intended them to form between his lips. They had been having some sort of ridiculous conversation about baking. Something about bread, maybe. “What were we talking about?”

“The incompetencies of the last Great British Bake Off winner. You said her bread looked flat,” Aziraphale supplies, diverting his attention from the painting errors on his ceiling to focus on the sleepy demon lounging on his couch. He’s curling up, consciously or not, and the angel contemplates doing the same. He never had truly understood the interest in sleep and he likely never would, as it was difficult to fit sleep into his rather rigid schedule. But he could enjoy a good rest every once in a while. Aziraphale also contemplates joining Crowley on his couch and gathering the demon up close before burying his face in his silky hair and basking in the warmth of it, although he doesn’t let himself linger on this thought too much. It's an impossible fantasy. The couch can barely hold one of them without sounding like it’s been mortally wounded. 

Wait. There was a point. A conversation. Bread.

“It’s supposed to look flat, Crowley. It’s focaccia,” he adds, finally.

Crowley’s responding grunt is noncommittal. Despite the inequality in their respective mental states, Aziraphale considers this non-answer a loss for the demon. The competitor’s cakes were lovely and he didn’t really see why Crowley was being so - 

A yawn breaks the silence of the room and the overly-defensive voice of his mind. It’s followed by the protesting creak of the ancient fainting couch. “Don’t care what kind of bread it is. Bread’s gotta be fluffy.”

“None of the bread we ate for centuries was fluffy, Crowley. It took the humans millennia to discover yeast and decades more to refine the whole rising bread thing and even then it was costly with how long it took to let bread rise, not to mention the amount of space it would take up in a bakery. Risen bread is a far more recent phenomenon than you remember it to be, dear.” 

He’s about to begin another tangent (one in which he explains how very little that one focaccia mattered if one considered how completely show stopping her croquembouche from episode four was) when he realizes with impossible fondness that Crowley has already fallen asleep. The sharp angles that often comprise the demon’s structure have somewhat smoothed out, his curved back facing Aziraphale and his head buried in the throw pillows. He doesn’t look strained for once, and the furrow in his brow (which Aziraphale was beginning to think was permanent) has lessened substantially. He looks...soft, lovely, beautiful, and Aziraphale stops listing adjectives before he lets his thoughts go too far. He’s being _ sappy _. 

Shelving is a fine distraction as it requires concentration and provides a unique sort of tactile stimulation Aziraphale has grown to love. But his feet seem to refuse his command to go downstairs. _ Crowley gets night terrors. You have to stay close. Just in case. _So he goes to his room instead, rifling through the storage bins for something to do, something to keep his hands busy, when he finds his favourite knit throw. He hugs it to his chest, thinks of how many times Crowley had stolen it to nap in the sun of the upstairs window seat, and then wraps Crowley in it with such tenderness that the demon (who was not nearly as asleep as Aziraphale believed) felt his heart melt. 

_ What does one do now? _Aziraphale contemplated. 

_ How do I get him to do this again? _Crowley nearly prayed. 

And then, as if his body were acting of its own volition, Aziraphale kissed his forehead. It was small and so light Crowley almost didn't feel it. But it was there. It was there and Crowley could feel the warmth in his cheeks and it's then that he thanks whatever higher power will listen that Aziraphale's own embarrassment drives him off before he notices Crowley's blush.

_ This can never be spoken of, it never will, and it definitely won’t happen again. _

These are predictions that they both get wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written so much angst lately that I thought everyone deserved a little fluff. Plus I'm at work and the IT guys never came to fix the data software so I just spent the day writing up and editing this little thing. Also I'm going to just put it out there that Crowley and Aziraphale have watched every episode of the Great British Bake Off as well as the other spinoffs (Great Canadian Baking Show, anyone?) and both of them have way too many opinions despite neither of them actually doing any baking themselves. Also Crowley has bad takes on bread. 
> 
> Enjoy and, as per usual, tell me what you think <3


End file.
